Harry Potter and the Surprising Twin Sister
by Flag Pole Sittah
Summary: Harry is living the humdrum life of a legendary hero, when, suddenly, his gorgeous twin sister appears! She drags him along on a series of hair-raising and utterly forgettable adventures that leads the whole cast through a totally boring plot line!


**Disclaimer: **_Harry Potter_ belongs to J. K. Rowling. _Alice in Wonderland_ belongs to Lewis Carroll. Anything else belongs to its respective owner. The author owns nothing, but likes to pretend otherwise.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Gall and Guile**

Harry Potter suddenly awoke. He had been having a dream, but he couldn't quite remember how it went. It was something wrought with symbolism, foreshadow and menace, but it remained just at the edge of memory. Maybe it was premonition. It could just be last night's dinner, though. That was some dinner.

The young wizard swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared longingly out the window, wishing for some glimpse of Hedwig, the faithful owl that was his only connection to the wizarding world. But, alas, the owl held true to precedent and stayed away. How could his friends be so ruthless? It was already the end of the first week of summer and he had received only thirty-seven pieces of mail. Really. The Boy-Who-Lived deserves much better.

Harry set his chin despondently upon his hand and sighed a sigh so sad, so profound, somewhere a statue of the Virgin Mary cried tears of blood for him. With thoughts of melancholy the boy stared out the window and watched the idle mist drift up and down the pre-dawn Privet Drive, but all too soon his reverie came crashing down when Harry Potter noticed a white rabbit sitting outside the window and staring at him. This rabbit was no ordinary white rabbit, though; this rabbit was wearing a frock coat and held a cane. Filled with adrenalin Harry slid his feat into his fuzzy snake slippers and rushed outside to the front of his house wearing only his somewhat embarrassing Slytherin pajamas. Thoughts of where he got them were quickly drowned out by his eagerness at meeting another magical denizen to adore him.

Harry dashed to the front door and slipped outside paying rather too little attention to the amount of noise he was making. With a loud bang the door slammed shut behind him and all of the lights on the street clicked on in a rather comical simultaneity. The wizard, however, was much to preoccupied to be bothered by trivial, sleep deprived muggles. Harry was intently watching the rabbit, and the rabbit was intently watching him. Finally, after an interminable period of time, for periods of time are always interminable, the rabbit turned and hopped slowly away. Harry followed the mysterious beast in such a way as to remain dramatically behind, but not too far behind, it. He called out, with little regard to the fact that many people seemed to be staring at him, "Wait rabbit, wait! We have so much to discuss. Please listen to me! I know your secret, you can trust me."

The rabbit, however, did not have a secret, and seemed not to hear or care and so continued on its implacable path. Before the Dursely's could be galvanized into damage control the rabbit reached a rabbit hole and vanished down its earthen depths. Harry soon reached the hole as well, panting an inordinate amount when compared to his exertion. With barely a pause he leapt down the hole, defying the laws of physics and the dictates of common sense. And you don't want to defy the dictates, they have low self-esteem.

Harry slid effortlessly down the tunnel and soon emerged into a large cavern that was effused with a mysteriously sourceless light. But Harry did not let this bother him; he was too preoccupied by the fact he seemed to be in free fall. When he finally got his bearings Harry looked around and saw that he was in a large cavern that was filled with floating furniture. He wanted to investigate the cavern, but he also wanted to keep copyright violations to a minimum, so Harry left the orange marmalade where it was and continued on with the gut-wrenching fall.

Soon Harry approached the earthen floor of the cavern, and conveniently started to slow down in such a way that should have allowed him to make a graceful landing. When he actually reached the floor, however, the Boy Who Lived collapsed in a rather graceless heap of green and silver pajamas. Before he could regain his feet a lilting and beautifully feminine laugh echoed across the cavern and gentle hands appeared upon Harry's back, helping him up and dusting him off.

With what little wits he had once more in his possession, Harry could finally take in the mysterious stranger who had helped him. A young woman stood before him who's other worldly beauty seemed like it was out of this world; she had emerald eyes the color of new leaves and beautiful, long, blonde hair the color of butter cups slid down her back like a waterfall of small yellow flowers. She stood tall and statuesque with a wonderfully pale, milk maid complexion and a pair of succulent breasts the size of grapefruit. But only medium-sized grapefruit. Her outfit was astonishingly unique and trendy with slight gothic overtones and is described in great detail somewhere. But not here. The author is lazy.

She smiled and the cavern seemed to fill with sunlight, either that or the sun came up outside and some light managed to filter in through the rabbit hole, the author is not quite sure which. Harry felt himself falling in love at first sight, but before he could completely lose himself in her wonderful stupendousness he thought to himself, "Wait! I mustn't crush on her! She could be my long lost twin sister I never knew I had and who was separated from me at birth and raised in the States!"

With this amazingly lucky thought the young goddess launched herself at Harry and hit him with the force of a petard. Embracing the startled and frightened Gryffindor she cried, "Oh, you must be Harry! I'm so glad to see you! I've been searching all over for you!" The relentless force of nature released Harry and held her hand forth to be shaken. "My name is Sarah, and I'm ever so glad to meet you."

Harry stared at her hand with a rather distrustful look on his face. The author would imagine the look on his face was similar to the look that would be on someone's face if they were presented with a petard. Tentatively, Harry asked, "But who are you?"

Sarah bawled out in a ridiculously endearing voice, "Oh, it was so silly of me to forget to mention, I'm sorry. I'm your long lost twin sister you never knew you had and who was separated from you at birth and raised in the States!"

Harry was no dummy; he knew to be skeptical of these kinds of things. Before believing this girl he would demand proof! "But you look nothing like me!"

"I take after the author."

"Ah." Of course! This made perfect sense to Harry. Now he felt relieved at his fortuitous insight to not get a crush on Sarah just in case she was his long lost twin sister he never knew he had and who was separated from him at birth and raised in the States. That would have been so embarrassing. Just imagine what Malfoy would have said.

Sarah seemed to take Harry's monosyllabalic expression as an excuse for a soliloquy. "I was raised by Muggles in Virginia and I had no idea that I had even been adopted, none-the-less that I was a wizard, or that I had a twin brother. It was a frightful shock when I got my letter inviting me to attend the local wizarding school, The Generic School of Witchcraft and Satanism. But I plucked up my courage and away I went. But then these crazy dreams started. In them I saw a thin boy, you Harry, and I knew his name and I knew he was my twin. So I questioned my parents and found out I was adopted, I had to come find you!"

"So you traveled across an ocean, leaving everything behind that you knew based solely on a dream?"

"Yep."

"Did you bring me any presents?"

"Nope."

There was a long awkward pause in which the two teenagers looked everywhere except at each other. "So, um, now what?" Harry questioned nervously.

"Well, either I can discover my fabulously advanced powers or we can have an amusing interchange in which we discover how your Aunt and Uncle will react to another magical being."

Harry carefully contemplated these two options. On one hand he didn't want to infuriate his Aunt and Uncle anymore then he had to, but on the other hand he didn't want to be shown up by a girl either. Decisions, decisions. "Lets go with the second option."

"Great, I can't wait to meet our relatives!" Sarah beamed so eagerly she looked ready to wet herself.

"But how do we get back to the surface?" Harry questioned sensibly.

"Silly, Harry, with Magick of course!" Sarah beamed and then blinked. When she opened her eyes they were still in the large cavern. She looked crestfallen. "Um, let me try that again. With Magick of course!"

Harry looked a little puzzled. "What was that supposed to be? Don't you need a wand?"

"Well, see, I'm a special kind of witch. The technical term is Non-Canon Whore, and most NCW's have special powers, but I think mine may be plot-dependent, so we'll have to wait and see."

Harry stared at her blankly. "Right. Well, I forgot my wand, so we'll have to climb out."

"But the walls are much too high and steep, and opening is far too narrow, how ever will we manage it?"

The two teens stared at each other for a minute and then stared around the room as the awkward pause grew and grew. Finally the author realized they were waiting for her.

* * *

Harry and Sarah stood on Privet Drive, looking somewhat grimy but no worse off then they had been before their adventure down the rabbit hole. This is of course a paradox. If they were "somewhat grimy," then aren't they, by definition, "worse off" then before? Ponder this awhile as the author spins her tale.

Completely ignoring the gawking neighbors and the furious Durselys, Sarah bubbled enthusiastically, "Oh, Harry! This is so exciting! Which one is our new house? Who are my aunt and uncle that I've never met? What are they like? Are they nice? Oh, Harry! This is so exciting! Which one is our new house? Does it have nice shutters? May I plant pretty flowers? Oh, Harry! I love pretty flowers, don't you?"

She babbled on like this for a while. Harry might have looked at her askance but all of his looking was quite preoccupied with straight ahead where Vernon Dursely was charging like an angry rhinoceros. Has the reader ever seen an angry rhinoceros charging? Or even a calm rhinoceros charging? Quite a sight, quite a sight. The amount of electrical power needed alone is absolutely astonishing. The amount needed together is just astronomical. "What do you think you're doing, boy? Running around at night, causing a racket and uproar, dressed only in your ludicrous pajamas and covered in mud! You woke the neighbors up and now they're going to think we're freaks." Vernon Dursely bellowed as unobtrusively as possible.

Now, why anyone would worry about what the neighbors on Privet Drive would think, no one knows. For these particular neighbors are merely cardboard cutouts. When no one is looking a stage crew runs around and moves them so they appear at the proper events, but the rest of the time they just remain standing by strategically placed windows so that they can view anything that might embarrass the Durselys. It has, in fact, been theorized that the neighbors exist for the sole purpose of having someone for the Durselys to worry about what they think, but that is neither here nor there, it's on Privet Drive, so the story shall go back there and find out what's happening.

In an innocent and free manner Sarah ran forward and hugged the patriarch of the Dursely family around the shoulders. Despite his enraged and embarrassed splutterings she spoke enthusiastically and sweetly, "Oh, Uncle Verny! I'm so glad to finally meet you! I've been so looking forward to the day when I could finally meet you! You probably don't remember who I am, but now that I've finally met you I can tell you! I'm Harry's long lost twin sister he never knew he had and who was separated from him at birth and raised in the States! And now you know who I am, because we've finally met!" After this rambling and redundant speech was completed, most of the cardboard cutouts made appreciative noises as if they thought the speech had been sweet and cute. They did not, however, actually think the speech was sweet and cute, as they are cardboard cutouts, and cardboard cutouts _never_ think anything is sweet or cute.

Sarah finally broke her death grip on her long lost Uncle and stared at him expectantly. Vernon, on the other hand, stared at the girl with dawning horror in his eyes.

* * *

Now, before the narration can go any further the author feels she must explain something. In the English language there are a series of sayings called idioms, and idioms are sayings that mean something different then what they say. These idioms are terribly confusing: 'on the other hand,' for instance, is an idiom because it has nothing to do with hands, and in this case it means 'Uncle Vernon's reaction was so completely and utterly opposite to Sarah's reaction that the author felt it was necessary to create imagery of this large man standing on an even larger hand.'

Now be careful, idioms are very difficult because they mean different things on different occasions. Depending on the context 'on the other hand' could be referring to different sides of the same argument, different sides of different arguments, the same side of different arguments, or even the same side of the same argument! If an author was feeling particularly obscure he or she could even use some tertiary meanings of the idiom 'on the other hand.' Often an obscure author would use the saying to refer to poker games, as in 'Billy decided not to fold as his hand contained two aces, what he did not know was that _on the other hand_ there were four aces.' Now an even more obscure usage would be in referring to logical fallacies, as in 'Drew lost the debate due to _on the other hand_.' If an author was feeling particularly literal he or she could even use it in this context, 'The Bowling Pin wore it's glove _on the other hand_.'

Now the readers are fully armed with respect to idioms, or at lest the one, but the author still has one finale piece of advice to impart about idioms. If someone ever has trouble remembering the term 'idiom' he or she could simply recall this pneumonic device: 'Only idiots use idioms, for they are clichés.'

Now before the narration returns the author would like to impart one more little gem of wisdom. A ruby of wisdom, to be precise. The verb 'to dawn' does not actually mean, 'to act like the time of morning during which the sun rises,' as is commonly assumed, it, in fact, means, 'to act like a woman _named_ Dawn.' All women named Dawn, as everyone knows, are very, very good at dancing, so if uncle Vernon 'stared at the girl with dawning horror in his eyes' he actually stared at her while horror danced through his eyes in a very, very technically proficient manner. Now, the story shall return to the original plot line, and the author thanks all of the readers for their patience with that horrendous tangent.

* * *

Sarah finally broke her death grip on her long lost Uncle and stared at him expectantly. Vernon, on the other hand, stared at the girl with dawning horror in his eyes. The man whirled, like a whirlwind, toward Harry and spoke accusingly, "You have a twin sister?! How could you not have informed me of this fact? And how dare you bring another one of _your _kind anywhere near the general vicinity of my house?!"

Before Harry could reply to his rampant uncle, a cardboard cutout, one that had lately been showing an unusual amount of independent thought and motion, spoke. "Why is Harry Potter having an identical twin such a surprise to you? When your sister-in-law told you she had given birth she couldn't have failed to mention that there were actually TWO babies, I mean, it's kind of an important detail. And if you didn't know about the sister, why would Harry know? The only information he has about his family comes from you."

When the cardboard cutout was done speaking it vanished into the nexus of evil that exists solely, as many things have only one purpose in this story, for annihilating anything that acknowledges or tries to rationalize plot holes. Everyone else ignored this phenomenon, for if they did not, the nexus would be sure to come after them next.

Harry stammered, "I-I-I only just found out about her, and she has no other home, please, may she stay with us?" Harry pleaded uncharacteristically.

"Yes, Uncle Verny, please let me stay! I promise not to be any bother at all! I don't eat much, despite having a healthy and athletic physique, and my hobbies including cooking, cleaning and generally making everyone very happy! I will be no bother at all!" Sarah flashed a winning smile that was beautiful enough to melt ice on a hot summer day.

Whether it was the winning and flashy smile that Sarah blessed upon his eyes, or the dark and rancid mumblings of the cardboard cutouts, Vernon Dursely relented. "Fine, get in the house, and don't you dare get mud on anything in there, or you'll regret it like you regret foolish thoughts in a telepath's presence, or sweatpants on a hot summer day."

"Thank you so much, Uncle Verny! You are so kind and wonderful! I am so glad we finally met! Aren't you glad we finally met? I'm glad we finally met! We will have oh so much fun together, all because we finally met! This is so exciting! I am so excited! We can do so much together, because we finally met! Oh, we'll build forts, and plants flowers, and play games, and…"

Everyone left Sarah rambling to herself and trudged inside, including Petunia and Dudley, who said nothing but were very impressed by Sarah's winnablity none-the-less. The stage crew ran outside and put the cardboard cutouts back into their respective houses. One member of the stage crew, however, remained outside, clearly searching for something. After a little while he disappeared, too. The only person who witnessed this was Sarah, but she ignored it.

"… and go to the beach, and play whack-a-mole, and sing bad songs so poorly they sound good, and just have so much fun! All because we finally met! Aren't you glad we finally met? I'm glad we finally met, because we will have so much fun together! Isn't that right, Harry?" Sarah paused for a breath and finally noticed she was alone. "Harry? Harry? Uncle Verny?" When no one answered Sarah shrugged and continued, "We'll have to start planning right now, otherwise we won't get everything done. I have access to the omniscient third person narrator, so I know that in just a couple of weeks Harry and I will go to the Wesleys' place for Tonk's and Lupin's wedding, so there isn't much time. Oh, I just have so much to do! I need to start planning! This is so exciting! I am so excited! First I need to help Dudley obtain Harry's forgiveness and then have him come out to his parents, and then I need to help Aunty Petunia forgive Lily, and then Uncle Verny. He needs anger management practice, and then…"

Sarah's ramblings could be heard long into the night.

* * *

Suddenly there was a dramatic scene shift in which the characters change completely, the setting is moved many miles in a random direction, and the atmosphere becomes significantly creepier. This is supposed to foreshadow sinister events and signify that what comes next is crucial to the plot. The reader is advised to prepare him or herself for the important revelations that are coming about the antagonists of this little story.

Two cloaked and masked figures approached a large gathering of cloaked and masked figures. The author thinks that the cloaks and masks are a sign of a deep-seated insecurity embodied in the cloaked and masked figures by their cloaks and masks. One of the figures approaching the gathering was tall and moved with the sinuous surety of a large cat. The other figure approaching the gathering was slight and moved with the sinuous surety of a small cat. They both knelt together with similar sinuous surety at the feet of a man standing in the center of the group of figures with deep-seated insecurity problems. The author thinks they should try guard dogs, as guard dogs make things more secure. The man in the center of the gathering was neither masked nor cloaked and he stood proudly, bearing his deep-seated security with aplomb. He didn't even own one dog.

The figure that resembled a large cat took off his mask and revealed the diabolical and treacherously handsome face of Lucious Malfoy. He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs spoke. "Rise Luscious. Tell me of what you plan."

Lucious followed the commands of He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs and rose to his feet. Lucious rose to his own feet, that is, not the feet of He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs. The figure that resembled a small cat remained kneeling. Lucious respectfully spoke, "This is my daughter, my Lord," Lucious gestured to the small-cat-like figure, "Her name is elle. It is pronounced as the letter 'L' and is spelled with all lower-case letters on purpose as an artistic statement. She is Malfoy's twin sister, and has never attended Hogwarts because I sent her overseas to study at The Generic School of Witchcraft and Satanism, it is in the States." Lucious paused for breath. Before He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs could say anything, however, Lucious plowed onward. "You know what? I bet you're wondering why my children have such different names. Malfoy and elle? It doesn't make sense. Well, the reason there is a break in the naming conventions of my children is that when my wife, Narciey-Narce, and I discovered that she was having twins, we, Narciey-Narce and I, decided that I would get to name the first child and she the second. I wanted to name one of the children after myself, but alas, I was to name the girl-child, so I approximated. Naming her after the first letter of my name was as close as I could get, I think."

He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs waved his hand in obvious impatience. "Get on with it, Luscious. No matter how sexy you are, I don't have all day and I want to hear your point." He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs spoke in soft and slithy voice, much as a cat does when it speaks.

The author would like to point out that, contrary to popular opinion, 'slithy' is a real word. It means lithe and slimy, as explained by Humpty Dumpty in chapter VI of _Through the Looking Glass_ by Lewis Carroll. The author was very disappointed when she discovered that Microsoft Word does not consider 'slithy' to be a word and is looking into finding a new word processor that rectifies this grievous error.

Before Lucious could respond a generic figure with deep-seated insecurity problems spoke. "Why did you explain how to pronounce your daughter's name? We all heard you the first time. And furthermore, we couldn't tell that it was all in lower-case when you spoke, so explaining why her named was spelled all in lower-case letters was somewhat incongruous." Everyone ignored the generic figure with deep-seated insecurity problems as the nexus closed in on him.

"I am sorry, my Lord," Lucious continued. "I will get to my point swiftly, much as Polonius did when explaining to Claudius and Gertrude that Hamlet was mad."

The author would like to point out to those that have not read Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ that Polonius is an old windbag. He was particularly windy when trying to tell of Hamlet's madness to the melodious Gertrude and the diabolical Claudius. Lucious's comment is, therefore, supposed to be ironic. If the reader did not pick up on that fact the author would like it to be known that the reader is a plebeian.

"My point is this," Lucious continued on with his rant, the author's note barely a blip on his internal screen. And by that the author means that Lucious is so preoccupied with his own voice that he did not noticed the beautiful and wise things the author had to impart. Lucious may come to a sticky end. Or possibly, a mere slightly tacky end. Lucious continued, "If there were a way to conquer all of your enemies, you would want to take it, correct?" He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs nodded impatiently, "Well, it then follows that if your enemies had a way to destroy you, you would want to avoid it, correct?" He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs continued nodding impatiently, "Well, the point is, if I may make my point. That is, I have a point to make and that point is that my daughter is a prophet. We, Narciey-Narce and I, were very surprised when we discovered this, and by we I mean Narciey-Narce and I, because, well, no one else in our family had this strange and wondrous talent, and it is supposed to run in families. So, when we found out she was a seer we wanted to foster this ability, so it would be of use to you later. That's how loyal we are to you, my Lord. Anyway…"

"Get to the bleedin' point already, Luscious!" He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs snapped, his voice no longer slithy.

"Right, right, my point is that elle has made a very interesting prophesy, and I think you should hear it, my Lord. May she recite it for you?"

"Yes, yes. Stand up, Little Luscious," He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs replied, still very impatient.

elle stood up and pulled off her mask while her father stepped back. Every person, figure and dog in the vicinity gasped when they saw her face. She was darkly beautiful and mysterious with long, brown hair and a slight smirk on her face that spoke volumes of her sexy and mysterious gothic nature. Her clothes under the cloak were strange, wondrous and beautifully unique and complex. They incorporated combat boots, ripped fishnet stockings and 12 pocket protectors. No one, however, could see this fabulous outfit because it was hidden under her cloak. Stepping forward, elle spoke in a voice that was all at once strong, mysterious, sexy and catatonic (no one has yet figured out how she managed to do that) these enchanting words: "From nothing a Non-Canon Whore shall rise. She shall bring the strength of a spring breeze and the strong smell of catnip upon her traces and use her plot dependent power to help The Chosen One cause The One Without Dogs to fall. A reign will end. A reign will begin, and slithy toves will be free to gyre and gimble in the wabe once more."

After this proclamation the small gathering fell silent, with all eyes glued to He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs, who looked supremely worried. After a few seconds of satisfying silence elle spoke boldly once more, "May I speak, my Lord?"

He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs waved a consenting hand. "Thank you, my Lord." elle bent her head in a respectful manner. "I think that I know what this prophecy means. It is referring to a girl I know, Harry Potter's twin sister, Sarah. She is returning to England to attend Hogwarts with Harry. I think that the prophecy predicts that Sarah will help Harry over throw you this year. Do not fret, though, my Lord, for I have a plan. If I also attend Hogwarts with Harry and Sarah I can watch them and attempt to sabotage any plans they may have. But only if you will it, my Lord." Despite this seemingly benign façade elle was thinking diabolical and mutinous thoughts. What she told no one was that the prophecy had a double meaning: elle herself was a Non-Canon Whore, and the reign destined to rise would be her own! Either that, or the prophecy meant that shampoo was destined to become obsolete; elle wasn't quite sure which.

He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs appeared to be deep in thought for several minutes about elle's proposition. In truth he was just counting the freckles on elle's nose, but he _appeared_ to be deep in thought, and that is what matters. Finally He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs proclaimed, "This plan pleases me. Luscious, make it so."

Lucious nodded and turned to go, with elle by his side, but was pulled back at the last minute by his master's voice. "Oh, one more thing, Luscious, why does Little Luscious look nothing like you?"

"Oh, she takes after the author's best friend."

"Ah, I see. Well, don't tarry now. Fulfill my directive and save my kingdom!"

"Yes, my Lord." Lucious and his daughter slid serendipitously into the misty night, leaving behind He-Who-Must-Not-Have-Dogs and his insecure followers.

Lucious and elle sliding into the mist is indeed serendipitous, the author did not use a large word incorrectly, despite what that infidel Webster may say. Serendipitous merely means to do something serenely, no matter that Webster says differently. The author would like her readers to know that Webster, in all it's wretched glory, does not consider slithy, tove, gimble, _or_ wabe to be real words, when Humpty Dumpty clearly defines them in chapter VI of _Through the Looking Glass_. According to the great sage Humpty Dumpty, toves are something like badgers, something like lizards and something like corkscrews, to gimble is to make holes like a gimlet and a wabe is the grassplot around a sundial. Heed these words carefully, for in a world awash with reckless dictionaries, the only things the readers may trust are the author and Humpty Dumpty; all else is a lie.


End file.
